


Flicker

by Navi (deprespresso)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuuin no Tsurugi | Fire Emblem: Binding Blade
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Birthday Fluff, Feel-good, Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 15:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20566634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deprespresso/pseuds/Navi
Summary: In the midst of the Disruption of Bern, the Etrurian army's general, Roy, turns a year older. Perhaps this time around, though, all he would have to show for it was the flicker of the candle at his desk.





	Flicker

**Author's Note:**

> This was written on June 1st; a sort of widely accepted birthday for Roy! I couldn't wait a year to upload it on time again, though; sorry ;w;

Exhaustion had its own miraculous, collective effect on every living being it dawns upon. Not always all at once, of course, but there was no living thing that has never once experienced it. It was the final nail in the coffin once other, challenging factors chip away at the target — a final call, so sweet that any second thought of its malice was disregarded with ease.

It wasn’t necessarily a feeling to be loathed, however. Knowing exhaustion, recognizing it before the chance to recuperate a solution vanishes, was vital. Even the most seasoned warriors could fall like feathers at the drop of the hat, should they allow the sensation to conquer them. And for a group of soldiers and knights that could hardly be lauded as “seasoned”, the effects of exhaustion were perceivable to any eye.

"Everyone deserves a good rest tonight . . . I wish to see to that. Please."

At the helm of the battered army men was the young lion, solemn in tone; humble in heart. His bright, youthful smile shone diligently as he made his request, to which the local village responded in sympathetic agreement. The boy’s grin only grew in light of it — his gratitude alight with every word, every gleam within his cerulean irises.

Bernese transgressions bore the dreadful power of exhaustion. With sheer numbers, they possessed the stalwart maiden as an age - old tactic; one that, had leadership been any less than acute on the opponent’s end, could prove devastating to them. Time, after time, after time — the general's strategy had bested the tactic. Roy persisted, and made it so exhaustion could only take its toll once safety, _victory_, was secured for the Etrurian army; and it was afterwards that the soldiers had the chance, the _life_, to relax.

Yet, even in those peaceful times, Roy was always on his feet. Always ensuring that this well-deserved respite was properly seen through; oftentimes, at the sacrifice of his own luxury. It was not a gesture done in secret, either — many an observant eye around their temporary posts would have caught on to his actions by now.

"That should be everything . . ."

Possibly for the first time that day, the young General permit himself a seat. The calm ambiance of evening chatter outside his tent was serene. There didn’t seem to be any discordant happenings. Everyone was content. That was all he could ask for at a time like this. Selflessness was a trait his father entrusted to him. Innately, he always used it.

Roy leaned back, and was taken aback by how much air had left his pursed lips in that next passing moment — good gods, had he been keeping that all pent up?

It was enough to snap him out of the limbo-esque state of daydream that left him in a trance, staring emptily into the candlelight atop his makeshift desk. His chin rested snugly atop the palm of his hand. He had the slightest temptation to snuff the candlelight for a bit of amusement. The cheery little light, dancing and flickering about on its slender cylindrical stage, brought him to a simpler time. One which consisted of joyous little gatherings, sweetly wrapped boxes and an irreplaceable love that resounded in his heart and mind.

So much from a simple little flicker — and extinguishing it did not mean the end. It meant that with the passing of a year’s experiences, another flame could start anew; brightly burning, brightly flickering with just as much vigor as the last, if not more.

( Come to think of it . . . I don’t believe I’ve even told anyone. )

He hasn’t. From the moment they woke, there was so much to prioritize. Before he was a boy with a birthday, he was a General with an agenda — one that he intended to see through. Diverting attention when it was so heavily required is unfathomable; for a silly and selfish reason, even more so!

. . . Wasn’t it?

A huff of breath escaped his hold once again, flickering the flame of the candle before him. Roy watched the wax trickle down the side of it. His fingers rhythmically drummed against the table.

A steady walking pace:

_tap, tap, tap, tap._

Today was just another passing day. 

_Tap, tap, tap, tap._

Tomorrow would be, too.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap._

And the day after, and the day after that; up until this war came to an end.

Tap, tap . . .

With the waning of the flame, his hand would gently clench. No more tapping, evidently; but his breaths retained the rhythm of the digited drums.

( Is it childish of me to think this way? It must be — I shouldn’t focus on it. It’s of no benefit right now. )

While he thought this to himself, there seemed to be another force at play. One that prodded at his emotions — emotions he believed to be well - controlled, well - kept at bay with lock and key — like stragglers, shaking the grills of the gate. Asking in the most innocent tone of voice if it was time to blow out the candles, or slice the cake. He couldn’t let those stragglers interfere with it; with what he already had. They weren’t a part of this war. so they held **no** leverage over his role. They weren't supposed to.

He’s not a young boy opening gifts and blowing out birthday candles; he is a leader of a nation at war, tactful and unwavering in his resolve.

( But . . . what if I’m both—? )

A thought he’d wanted to perish — too problematic, too difficult to balance in a situation like this. It was selfish, after all. Acting in self - interest may very well be detrimental! He told himself this over and over, clinging to the hope that the desire would tire out and leave him alone. That selfishness was the way in which nobles became corrupt; in which nations would fall, as the people are not first prioritized. Priority . . . a sickly word, but one that clung onto his every action. One that warded away his every personal desire through solid reason.

"I . . ."

There was a stillness in the air.

He was calm, held a manner of content in one moment;

yet he found his head buried beneath his hands, the next.

Roy shut his cerulean eyes off from the world, feeling the heat of . . . well, something, creeping around to the rims of his eyes. A heat that he could feel atop the surface of his palms.

"Happy Birthday to you . . ."

Feeling his tensed muscles freeze, he lifted his head. As the flap of his tent opened, he hurriedly retreated his hands away from his face. Several voices — no, several people, all of which . . .

"Happy Birthday to you!"

The second time it met his ears, he didn't know what it was he felt.

Unbeknownst to even him, a jubilous laugh slipped from the boy's lips!

He tried to meet gazes with them all — Marcus, Lilina, Alan, Lance, Wolt . . . Merlinus following, as he held the flap open for the chorus to flank in. In Marcus’s hands, too; a humble little cake, made with what ingredients the villagers were able to offer. His lips curled, shifted, but they couldn’t even say a word — the heat that manifested around his eyes only grew. The upturned curve of his lips only grew more prominent.

"Happy Birthday, dear Roy . . . !"

The plate was placed before him in a manner so gentle, the flicker of the flame protruding from it was hardly noticeable. For once, he was at a loss for words — that never happens. Every gaze rested on him was kind. Loving . . . true. He sensed it. Even if he didn’t, he already knew it for certain. He looked at them all. His friends, since the beginning; above “allies”, or anything less than that.

He looked until they were too blurry.

"Happy Birthday to—"

Roy rose from his seat; hugging them, arms as wide as he could possibly muster. It was then when the tears meaningfully struck down his cheeks — much like the wax of the candle.

"Thank you . . . Thank you."

Through it, the young lion laughed; not minding, all too much, the saltiness of the tears that passed his lips. In fact, he embraced it; he embraced them, for a long time.

All while the candle flickers.


End file.
